


baby, i'm a pro at letting go

by kavinsskys



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Casual Sex, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, and bitty makes pancakes, kent and bitty talk about feelings, kind of???, so this was meant to be a pwp but it's not really, then they fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kavinsskys/pseuds/kavinsskys
Summary: Then, without warning, they’re laughing, and Bitty can’t tell when he went from hating Kent to feeling some strange type of camaraderie with him. Like they’re the “hopelessly in love with Jack Zimmermann” club or something.or, where bitty and parse sleep together just because they can





	

**Author's Note:**

> um... this was meant to be a pwp?? but then i got a lil shy so. sorry about that. title taken from montreal by the weeknd lol.

Bitty stands there in the hall staring at nothing for at least five minutes. He’d known, of course he’d known that there was _some_ sort of history between Jack and Kent Parson, but. It’s another thing to hear him say such awful things to Jack. Jack had been shaking, for goodness’ sake. Bitty waits a while, but eventually he has to go back downstairs. He goes out to the porch for some air, to clear his head. He knows that Kent probably didn’t mean half of the things he’d said, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt Jack. And Bitty, too – it doesn’t feel great to be called a “shitty team”. Someone sighs, then, draws Bitty back to himself, and oh. Of course. Kent Parson is sitting out here on the porch. It’s too late, then, to go back in, so Bitty just sits down and very determinedly does not look in Kent’s direction.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” says Kent. Bitty looks at him, then, and he looks worn out. His hat is in his hands and he’s hunched over, face scrunched up the way Bitty’s is sometimes when he thinks about how unattainable Jack is.

“No offence,” says Bitty, in a tone he hopes comes off as ‘full offence’, “But I’d rather not listen to anything you have to say,” And Bitty might be paying too much attention to Kent seeing as he notices his slight flinch. So sue him, it’s not like a gay boy goes blind just because he thinks a guy isn’t really a nice person.

“That’s…..” Kent hesitates, “Fair. I guess that’s fair.” He shakes his head, and Bitty’s never seen even Jack look that forlorn and just _miserable_ , “Fuck. I need a drink.” Bitty doesn’t know why he does it, but he says,

“I’ll get it,” and disappears back inside to get two cups of tub juice, ignoring Shitty’s insistence that both of them better not be for him. Jack is still nowhere to be found, and Bitty feels almost guilty for talking to Kent the way he is, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Here,” he hands the cup to Kent when he sits back on the porch.

“Thanks,” says Kent, and he downs nearly half of it in one go. Bitty is honestly kind of impressed. “Look,” Kent starts again. He looks nervous, almost, “I don’t want you to think I’m a bad guy,”

“Oh, honey,” says Bitty, “It’s a bit too late for that,” Kent laughs, and it’s an empty, hollow sound. It’s the kind of laugh Bitty would have to fake when one of his Georgia relatives made some homophobic joke and everyone cackled at it. Kent spins his aces cap around in his hands.

“I know, I said some bad things. Fucked up things, but. Zimms hurt me too, you know? God, after I was drafted he just… cut me off. I missed him. I still do, fuck,” and Bitty is not drunk enough for this conversation. He says so,

“I am not drunk enough to be having this conversation with you, Kent Parson,” Kent huffs a laugh, this one slightly less hollow than the last. Bitty thinks that it’s progress, then chides himself for wanting to cheer up someone who’d just said horrible things to Jack.

“Me neither…..” Kent trails off, and Bitty realises belatedly that he’d never introduced himself.

“Eric Bittle, but you can call me Bitty,” he says.

“Oh. Number fifteen?” asks Kent, and Bitty is more than a bit surprised. He nods. “You and Zimms play well together.” And, oh. _Oh_. Bitty thinks he gets it now.

“You…. and Jack?” he asks, and the question isn’t really clear but he knows Kent understands what he’s asking when he squeezes his eyes shut. Bitty sighs, says, “Yeah hun, me too,”

Then, without warning, they’re laughing, and Bitty can’t tell when he went from hating Kent to feeling some strange type of camaraderie with him. Like they’re the “hopelessly in love with Jack Zimmermann” club or something. But Kent stops laughing before Bitty does, and he puts his hand on Bitty’s arm, says,

“Tell me if you don’t want this,” and Bitty vaguely knows what’s going to happen before it does, but that doesn’t stop him being surprised when Kent kisses him, and it definitely doesn’t stop the small moan that escapes him when Kent pushes him against the railing of the porch and fists his hands in Bitty’s hoodie like he’s drowning and Bitty’s a ring buoy thrown out to him.

They’re not in the most comfortable of positions. Bitty’s sitting, knees out and back pressed against the porch bannister, while Kent kneels between his legs. Bitty has to tilt his head too far back and Kent has to crane his neck too far down, and their teeth keep clacking because they’re still laughing, a little bit, but neither care. Kent pulls back and starts mouthing at Bitty’s neck, and Bitty goes weak. If he’d been standing he would have fallen.

“Oh, Ken- ny,” he says, breathless, and Kent freezes. Bitty wonders for a moment if he’s done something wrong, but then Kent breathes,

“Fuck, Bits,” against his neck. Bitty’s burning up, and he doesn’t think twice before nodding when Kent asks him to go upstairs. Then, when he does think, it’s only to hope Jack isn’t around to hear whatever they get up to. God, he feels a little guilty about that thought.

They have to act casual as they sneak upstairs, and Bitty hopes he looks less strung-out and unkempt than he feels right now. Bitty has no trouble finding his key this time, luckily, and Kent has him pushed up against the door within seconds of it closing. Bitty’s laugh comes easy now, breathy as he says,

“Kenny, come on, the bed,”

“Like it here, though,” Kent says between kisses to Bitty’s neck, “Can I mark you?” And Bitty knows it’s a bad idea, knows it’ll be hard to explain in the morning, knows he’ll be chirped nonstop even if he can think of a plausible explanation other than ‘slept with Kent Parson’, but he doesn’t really care.

“God, yes,”

They eventually do make it to the bed, Bitty writhing under Kent’s touch and too many clothes separating them. Bitty pushes Kent’s hat off, first, then paws at the edge of his shirt until he says,

“You’re gonna have to ask nicely,” and makes Bitty flush all over, and Bitty hadn’t known that was a thing for him, but apparently it is. He says,

“Come on, Kenny, take it off, please?” and if Kent’s hushed gasp and hurry to do what Bitty asked make him just a little smug, then no one needs to know. Kent takes off Bitty’s hoodie, finally, and his shirt, too, and he kisses down Bitty’s body achingly slowly, leaving a trail of purple-red marks in his wake, until the only words Bitty’s capable of saying are “please” and “Kenny”. Kent, the asshole, smirks up at him.

“Bits, if you want something, you have to ask for it,” he says. So Bitty does, and Kent delivers.

* * *

 

What Bitty had failed to think of when he’d been sleeping with Kent Parson was, well, that he and Kent Parson might actually end up sleeping together. So now it’s noon, and Bitty wakes up in his room with an incredibly hungover, incredibly attractive NHL legend wrapped around him like a big, blonde octopus. Bitty just lays there for a while, thinking about how he’ll sneak Kent out or explain this away when Kent says,

“Oh. You’re awake,”

“Yeah,” says Bitty, because he doesn’t really know what else there is to say, except, “Um, about last night-”

“Fuck,” says Kent. He scrubs a hand down his face, “You probably think I’m the worst. An asshole and a slut,” That hollow laugh is back again, but Bitty says,

“No, I –,” but the words won’t come out properly, so he tries again, “I had fun?” It sounds like a question, but Bitty supposes it’s better than nothing. Kent’s face softens.

“Yeah, me too, Bits,”

They lay there for a little while longer, both unwilling to move even though it’s uncomfortably hot where they’re pressed against each other, and Bitty’s bed isn’t really big enough for two – especially not when one of them has the body of a professional hockey player. After a few minutes – it could have been five or it could have been twenty-five, Bitty couldn’t really tell – Kent gets up and starts dressing. He puts his hat on first, which makes Bitty laugh, and Kent grins in response. Eventually, Bitty says,

“Let’s go downstairs, I’ll make breakfast,” to which Kent replies,

“It’s almost half twelve,”

“Brunch, then,”

So they head to the kitchen, somehow miraculously avoiding any impromptu encounters with Bitty’s teammates. Bitty makes pancakes for them both, chocolate chip, and puts real maple syrup on the counter even though he personally “prefers Aunt Jemima’s butter flavour, but don’t tell Jack that,”

Turns out, they maybe should have tried harder to keep _other_ things from Jack, because he ends up walking in on them while Kent has Bitty crowded up against the counter in front of the sink, planting slow, filthy kisses on the marks he’d left on Bitty’s neck. Bitty’s hands get suds from the washing up liquid in Kent’s hair, but neither of them really care, and both are too distracted to hear the front door open and then close again. But that’s a story for another day.


End file.
